Mozart's Sister (23 page)

I untied my cloak and carefully put it on the hook near the door.
I slipped off my shoes and tiptoed toward the bedchamber I shared
with Mama, carrying a candle in my free hand. I walked in an
angled manner so my wide skirt would not skim the walls of the
narrow hall. I did not want to wake-

Mama was not in bed. She sat in the dark, on the window seat,
her green shawl over her nightdress. Her night cap was squarely in
place. And she wore slippers. She had not been to bed. "You are
late, Nannerl. Very, very late."

I set the candle on the cabinet holding the wash basin. I knew
she was right. The last time Joseph had checked his pocket watch it
was nearly one. In the morning.

"I'm sorry, Mama. Surely, you didn't wait-?"

"Surely, I did." She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders. "You are my one and only daughter. There are no men here
to protect us and take care of us and . . ." Her words broke off and
she put a hand to her mouth, dipping her head.

Was she crying?

"I just want you to be safe."

I set my shoes on the floor and hugged her. "I was perfectly
safe," I said. "I was with Joseph and other friends. After the ball we
went to have coffee and kugelhopf cakes. I didn't mean to make you
worry.

Mama pulled away, wiping her eyes with the corner of her
shawl. I retrieved a handkerchief from my waist and gave it to her.
"I am alone here, Nannerl," she said. "I want you to have fun. You
are young, you must be out with others in order to find a husband.
But be mindful that I do get lonely sometimes."

The guilt fell upon me. I honestly had not thought of Mama,
alone and lonely. She had her women friends. She seemed content
to stay at home and manage the household.

She sniffed. "I enjoyed balls once too."

Ali. That was it. "You could come with us "

Mania shook her head vehemently. "Not without your father.
Never without him."

"But it's already been six months. He may be away for a
long . . ." I did not finish the sentence. I could not. For no one
knew when they would be back. And both of us knew that all plans
were variable as new opportunities presented themselves.

Mania took a deep breath and managed a smile. "I'm just being
a needy old woman."

"You're not old." Too late I realized I should have added "or
needy."

She kissed my cheek. "Get to bed now, Nannerl. We both have
a busy day tomorrow"

I knew I did. I had two pupils conning for lessons. But as far as
Mama's busy day? I wasn't sure what that entailed. But as I began to
undress, I promised myself and God above that, from now on, I
would make a point to be a part of it.

Three months later, as summer started its descent into autumn,
I ran into the kitchen. "Mama! Letters!"

Mama stopped cutting the turnips and wiped her hands on her
apron. "Four letters?"

I held three toward her and held the other against my chest.
"Three from Papa to you, and one from Wolfie to me." This was
the way it was; as if the two men had been assigned our names as
their partners of the quill. Occasionally Papa put a line in his letters
specifically for me, but it was clear they were mostly meant for
Mama's eyes. In his defense I recognized there were a lot of household issues that needed to be addressed, ones that Mama was not
used to handling. It wasn't easy for her, and I noticed she periodically asked Herr Hagenauer for help.

She took the letters and sat at a stool near the light and breeze
of the window. I leaned against the sill and did the same. This was
our usual custom-we read the letters to ourselves first, then shared
by reading them aloud. It was a wise habit because Wolfie could get
quite crude in his choice of words, and though I didn't mind-for I
understood his odd humor better than anyone-I felt some responsibility to edit them for our mother's ears.

Wolfie wrote: I have no time to write much. My pen is not worth a
fig, nor is he who is holding it. Immediately after lunch we play boccia. That
is a game which I have learnt in Rome. When I come home, I shall teach
it to you. When I have finished this letter I shall finish a symphony which
I have begun. The aria is finished. A symphony is being copied (Papa is the
copyist, for we do not wish to give it out to be copied, as it would be stolen.)
In Milan we saw four rascals hanged. They hang them just as they do in
Lyons. We also saw a ballet in Cremona. There was a woman dancer there
who did not dance badly and, what is very remarkable, was not bad-looking
on the stage and off it. The others were quite ordinary. A grotesco was there
too-whenever he jumped he let off a fart. As you know I have never been
shy about telling other musicians their weaknesses. But Papa is trying to
make me change. "Don't be so candid! Play the Englishman, Wolferl." But
I like being candid. The pride of some of these musicians is legion, as if they
truly know what they're doing. Thanks for sending me that arithmetical
business, and if you ever want to have a headache, please send me a few
more of these feats. I am simply panting from the heat! So I am tearing open
my waistcoat. I send a thousand kisses to Mama and one pockmark of a kiss
to you. I remain the same old ... old ... what? ... the same old buffoon.

It was signed: Wolfgang in Germany, Amadeus in Italy.

I'd finished reading mine first. As usual, Papa's letters were mul tiple pages, and Mama was still on the first one. She noticed I was
finished, but instead of asking me what Wolfie had said, she pointed
to the letter she held. "Papa reminds us again to save all his letters."

Yes, yes. I glanced toward the cabinet in the corner of our workroom. "Soon we're going to need a separate room for them all."

Mama gave me a chastising look. "They're important, Nannerl.
They chronicle many things."

"But who will ever want to read them?"

Mama did not answer at first, then said, "Someone. Someday.
We must do as your father says."

I shrugged, knowing she was right, yet also slightly bothered by
the instruction. I doubted Papa and Wolfie were keeping our letters.

Mama began to reiterate what was in Papa's letter, passing on
tales of mountain roads that prevented him from sleeping and Italian
audiences that crowded Wolfie so he had trouble reaching his instrument. The audiences in Naples accused Wolfie of having a magical
ring that made him able to play so well so he'd taken it off to prove
them wrong. The two of them had seen the volcano Vesuvius
smoking, the ruins of Pompeii, and had ridden in a gondola in Venice so long they continued to feel the movement when in bed.
They'd even attended the carnival.

I was glad that most of the time they didn't go into much detail
but told Mama and me to look the places up in the three-volume
guidebook Papa had bought for us. Though I hadn't done that
much of late.... My rebellion was childish, but it was my way of
handling what I was not seeing.

Mama laughed. "Apparently your brother has deemed the
Mediterranean the Muckyterranean Sea. That sounds so like-"
Suddenly Mama stopped her reading and gasped. "Oh no, Papa was
injured in an accident!"

My bitterness left me. "What does he say?"

Mama read the letter aloud. Apparently, in the act of leaving
Naples for a second trip to Rome, Papa had hired a sedia, a twowheeled carriage pulled by one horse that had a groom riding to
the left with another horse yoked to the frame. By using such a light
and fast rig, it was possible to take only twenty-four hours to make
the trip.

But one of the horses reared and stumbled, pulling the carriage
down. Papa had extended a hand in front of Wolfie, trying to keep
him safe, but in the process they fell, and Papa split his shin on an
iron bar. The injury was the width of a finger. They'd finally gotten
to Rome, and Wolfie had been so tired he'd fallen asleep in a chair
and Papa had undressed him without waking him.

"I don't care about Wolfie's sleep-I want to know about Papa,"
I said.

"He says he's fine ... yet that was over a week ago." She set the
letter aside and tore open the next. She skimmed it. But the news
was far different than I expected. "They had an audience with Pope
Clement! And Wolfgang has received the papal Order of the Golden
Spur! He is a knight."

I glanced back at Wolfie's letter. "He doesn't mention that here."

Mama put a hand to her chest, her face proud. "He can now
legitimately take the title of cavalier."

"I can't imagine Wolfie using a title like that." But what of Papa's
injury? And what of ... I thought of something that had happened
during their first trip to Rome. "I'm surprised the pope gave Wolfie
that honor after he got in trouble for writing down the Miserere after
hearing it played in the Sistine Chapel. It's forbidden to take away
even a single part of it, to copy it, or to give it to anyone. He could
have been excommunicated for that, yet they give him this honor?"

Mama looked perplexed. "Papa must have made it right."

That seemed to be the only explanation, yet did Papa really
wield such power?

This question didn't seem to bother Mama, as she went back to
reading the letter. "Papa wants us to make sure the archbishop
knows about the honor. And they got new suits too." She referred
to the letter and read, " `Our Wolfie's is a rose-colored moire
trimmed with silver lace and lined with sky blue silk. While mine is
the color of cinnamon and is made of piqued Florentine cloth with
silver lace, lined with apple green silk. I'm going to have Wolfie's
portrait painted in his, with the sash of the order across his chest."'
Mama sighed. "How beautiful."

And how expensive. Papa constantly reminded us to be frugal, yet he and Wolfie were indulging themselves in extravagant new
clothes?

"They are meeting with royalty, Nannerl," Mama said, guessing
my thoughts. "They need to look their best"

I nodded, understanding. In theory.

"Perhaps when you receive payment for your Tuesday lesson,
you can use a bit of it to buy a new hat. We could go without meat
on Sunday if need be."

I got a hat at the expense of meat, and Wolfie and Papa got silk
and silver lace? Yet there was no point arguing.

Mama turned to the second page of the letter. "Here. Finally
mention of the leg ... He says it's worse. His leg has swollen so
much that he's hobbling around Rome. But he assures us he'll be
fine." She turned the page over. "That's not enough!" she said. "I
need more information!"

"The last letter, Mama."

She hurriedly opened the final post. Her lips moved frantically
as she read Papa's words. "The wound opened ... his ankle is swollen to the size of his calf. And now he's getting pain in his other
ankle!"

"Has he seen a doctor?"

Mama scanned more of the letter, then nodded. "They've been
offered housing by the field marshal Pallavicini at his estate not far
from Bologna." She read in silence a few moments. "It's very palatial, and they are waited on like royalty." She smiled and finished
reading. "They provide a comfortable chair for him in every room,
with a stool for his foot, and he is not required to stand even when
his host comes into the room."

I let out the breath I'd been saving. "So they're all right, then."

Mama nodded, her face clearly relieved. "They are fine. They
plan to stay there many weeks, until his leg is completely healed."
She folded the letter carefully. "It also says that Wolfie has ridden a
donkey and loves the variety of fruit there"

Donkeys and fruit? What did that matter? Papa had been
injured, and we hadn't been there to nurse him back to health.

Mama finished folding all the letters. "My son, Cavalier Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Knight of the Golden Spur...." She put the letters in the cabinet and went back to the turnips. "By the way,
Papa sends a thousand kisses."

The feelings of envy I thought I'd set aside returned. During the
past nine months, I'd managed to deal with a myriad of letters
regarding the sites they'd seen, the important people they'd met. But
for them to stay in a palatial home and be waited on, while we lived
in the three rooms Mama and Papa had lived in since they were
married, the same house they'd birthed seven children in. The same
house they'd lived in since before Papa was Vice Kapellmeister. And
then for Papa and Wolfie to have an audience with the pope and
receive an honor from him ...

"I have a pupil coming," I said, moving toward the door.

Mama looked up. "But Wolfie's letter? What did he have to
say?"

"Nothing important. But he also sends a thousand kisses."

Mama actually smiled. As if a million kisses would be enough.